


The Chosen Series

by glacis



Category: Star Wars: Episode One - The Phantom Menace
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-27
Updated: 2010-01-27
Packaged: 2017-10-06 17:56:24
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 17,221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/56308
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/glacis/pseuds/glacis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Four contiguous, very alternate universe stories in one. In Bound (Kenobi/Maul), Jabba the Hutt has some unusual allies, and even more unusual captives. It's an explosive combination. In Broken, Jinn brings Kenobi home to heal. All hell breaks loose. Literally. In Trials (Kenobi/Jinn), Kenobi tries to prove himself. The victors enjoy the spoils. The hunt continues.  Finally, in Balance (Kenobi/Maul), Good fights Evil in a rather unusual way, and resolution is reached. Of a sort.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Chosen Series

Bound, by Glacis. An extremely alternate universe Kenobi / Maul story, rated NC17 for nonconsensual sexual activities, chained Jedis and aroused Hutts. Blame McGregor's wish to be Princess Leia (and repeated watching of Velvet Goldmine along with a run-through of Pillow Book for all … that … skin … I can't believe she painted his penis) for this one. TPM has a different pair of Jedi in it in my universe. No infringement intended, and TPTB would never do this to them anyway. More's the pity.  First in the Chosen series.

 

Weary blue eyes tracked silently around and around the outline of the cryocrypt, searching vainly for an opening. A weakness. A crack.

Nothing.

A hard jerk at the collar around his neck pulled him off balance, propelling him against the base of the granite platform. Thick leather dug into the soft skin under his chin, and he straightened his back, taking as much of the strain off his throat as he could. A slobbery rumble approved of his posture. He didn't need to look down to know why.

Chains whispered at his ankle, his wrists, his throat. His eyes never left the cryocrypt directly across the room from his vantage point, even as a raspy tongue, dripping saliva with the texture of sticky sap, curled around his shoulder, laved his throat. The chain jerked him forward and the tongue left a sloppy trail down the length of his spine.

Obi Wan Kenobi, Jedi knight. Captive slave. Forgotten.

Forsaken.

The cryocrypt blurred at the edges but the tears didn't fall. He knew, in his gut, that the current stalemate could not continue much longer. He was on the verge of a breakthrough.

Or a breakdown.

Either way, it would be over soon.

The tongue-tip, thick as his forearm, slid under the back edge of his loincloth and began to push at his flesh. Slurping sounds pummeled his eardrums, and he concentrated ever more fiercely on the craggy features frozen, stilled, hung as an obscene trophy on the wall of a disgusting slug. The pain in his lower back faded away under the resolution in his mind.

Soon.

_I will not forsake you, Master. I will not._

 

Yoda stared at the vista of stars spread out beyond his window. There was a ripple in the force, weak but insistent. It was familiar, but it couldn't be.

Qui Gon Jinn was dead, and his young apprentice with him.

Yet, yet, the signature was so close.

His eyes closed, and his entire face seemed to sag. The muted beep of his comm unit barely disturbed him.

"Yes."

"The analysis is complete, Master Yoda," came the technician's calm report. "The cruiser is legitimate. It is Master Jinn's craft. The remains were miniscule, but the only tissue evidence we could retrieve from the fragments were confirmed as genetic matches for Master Jinn and Padawan Kenobi."

Yet.

"Certain, you are?" Of course. He could feel it. He didn't need the technician's verbal assertion.

As certain, he was not.

Staring back at the stars, he sent a thought to Windu.

_The trade situation in Naboo is unstable_, drifted into his mind. _We must send a team._ Yoda sighed again.

_Master Noit'c and his Padawan Liepur, then_, he responded mentally. The ripple shuddered, and Yoda's eyes popped open. _Disturbed is the Force. Feel it you do, yes?_

_No._ Windu sounded puzzled. _There is some tension in the Senate, and turmoil along the Rim, but nothing out of the ordinary._

_Ordinary, this was not._ Yoda shook his head. _Naboo_, he instructed Windu, and turned his face back to the stars.

The future was obscure. The past, painful. The present, uncertain.

He missed Qui Gon.

The pages of prophecy were being rewritten, and it made his ears ache. Oddly enough, his heart felt lighter than it had in years, but there was shadow mixed with the light. It didn't bother him nearly as much as he felt it should. He also felt a persistent itch at the back of his neck.

He was missing something. Something important.

Unsettled, he was. He'd done all he could do, must accept his loss and move on.

And yet. Yet.

 

Darth Maul felt the disturbance in the Force before his shuttle was within hailing distance of Tatooine. He knew the taste of rage, hatred, frustration, lust, fear.

Not as this tasted.

It sparkled. Razor edges of broken diamonte, novae in the darkness.

An explosion of Light. Chained. Powered by love, and hatred.

It made his head spin. His palms slick with sweat. His horns itch. It tasted seductive.

Addictive.

The pilotdroid took care of the mundane tasks of clearance, docking, paying off port officials. The bribes were moderate, given that the locals didn't want to anger one of the Hutt's business partners.

They had no idea.

His glaring red eyes, fearsome black and red markings, and deadly attitude were more than enough to frighten the hordes of beggars away. They worked just as well on the palace guard. A sickly white tentacled being with sharp teeth and an obsequious manner bowed him toward the Hutt's throne room.

The taste grew stronger. Heady. Intoxicating.

He didn't hear the chamberlain announce him. He was too busy feasting on the source of the turmoil in the Force.

A young, male, Human slave strained against the Hutt's hold. Wheat gold hair hung in his eyes, clung to the sweat along high cheekbones, straggled against a sharp jaw, perfectly offset by a dimpled chin. His wide mouth was drawn into a grimace, but the rest of his face was perfectly calm. He stared away into the distance, seemingly impervious to the violation of his body.

His back was arched, the crown of his head flush against the heated bulk of the Hutt's belly. He balanced on the balls of his feet, compensating as best he could for the hands chained at the small of his back. His shoulders were pulled back by the chain at his neck collar, throwing his chest into relief, highlighting the thin gold chain glistening between his clamped nipples, tiny golden bells chiming with every move he made. The short leather loincloth, barely wide enough to cover his genitals and the curve of his ass, swung freely. His flanks were exposed to the lascivious gaze of the Hutt's criminal court.

He had a leather collar around his neck, holding his back in that arch. It wasn't the collar that riveted Maul's attention. It wasn't even the arrhythmic rocking of the young man's pelvis with each push from the slobbering Hutt. It was the thin line of woven hair twisted around the man's throat, directly above the collar and nearly obscured by the tooled leather.

The second collar. A Padawan braid. A Jedi knight in training.

The Sith lord froze in his tracks.

The man's face abruptly twisted into a snarl, and the disinterested pose broke. The Jedi's gaze swept once over his shoulder, raking the Hutt who was now licking his lips, then swung like a laser to the doorway.

Blue.

The Jedi's eyes were blue.

Fire.

He hadn't known the Light could burn.

Raucous laughter broke the spell. An indecipherable stream of babble came from the Hutt.

"Jabba the Hutt wonders if you find his slaveboy enticing, Darth Lord. Suggests you stop leering and begin negotiations before you find yourself in similar place."

Maul ignored the creature, tearing his eyes from the Jedi's face with an effort. Turning his back disdainfully on the Hutt, he looked up the wall, interested to see what had held the Jedi's attention so completely during the Hutt's activities.

A cryocrypt hung from the wall, behind a complicated maze of electronic and biotronic security devices, suspended above a pit filled with acid. The man imprisoned in it was large, muscular, and judging from the robes, a Jedi master. Maul thought of the braid, and smiled. An ingenious way of controlling the apprentice. He sent a tendril of the Force out along it, tracing the power pathways.

"No!"

He turned back to the young Jedi. The blue was burning even fiercer, heart of the hottest flame. "Why not?" he growled softly. The young man swallowed. The braid moved with his skin, and the Light fragmented around him.

"You'll kill him." A hint of plea beneath the defiance. Maul turned back to regard the cryocrypt. He could see it now. A killswitch. Any hint of tampering and the crypt would sink into the pit. The Jedi master would die in moments. Clever, indeed.

Turning back to the Hutt, he forced himself to ignore the Jedi and continued on toward the Hutt. Examining him closely, he saw a bubble next to the giant mouth. The disarm trigger. He smiled in spite of himself, and glanced back at the Jedi. So close, and yet so far. He would never gain access to that trigger. Never be able to save his master, or himself. Would stay in this hell forever, at the whim of the Hutt, until his body was no longer so beautiful, or the Hutt tired of him. Then he would die, as would his master.

The Light concentrated, and he knew without touching it that the Jedi knew exactly what he was thinking. There was anguish deep in those eyes.

It tasted as sweet as the wild emotions running through the Light. Maul closed his eyes for a moment to savor it.

He sensed the movement before it began, and his saber staff was in his hand, slicing mercenaries into pieces before he got his eyes completely open. Disarming his weapon almost lazily, he stared at the Hutt over the remains of the criminals who'd attempted to jump him.

"Shall we negotiate now?" he hissed.

Jabba stared at him, golden lights swirling in his eyes. Then he groaned something to his interpreter, and the pale alien turned back to him. "A gesture of good faith, and a reward for your valor."

Maul stared at him. It would be so easy to stuff the being's tentacles down his throat and feed him to his loathsome master. But Palpatine had given him strict instructions. Enjoyment aside, he had no real reason to slice the Hutt into mulch. Yet. "What?" he growled.

With a roll of his massive stomach, the Hutt pushed the Jedi toward him. The man used the Force to cushion his fall with the ease of long practice, compensating for the awkward lack of balance caused by his wrists being chained behind him.

"Fuck." This time when the Hutt rumbled, Maul understood him.

Staring down at the man on his knees amidst the blood and gore from the dead courtiers, Maul slowly lowered his hands to his belt. There was a certain appeal to the idea. The Jedi was attractive, in a clean, long-limbed, oddly innocent sort of way. Debauching innocence always appealed.

The shaggy head lifted, and the molten blue eyes stared up at him. He was caught. Light and Dark, strength chained, anguish tamped down to sear the soul to slag. The very perversity of the coupling sang to him, the closest he could get to extinguishing the Light without allowing that final mercy.

His leggings were lowered and he was kneeling behind the Jedi without further hesitation. The man's buttocks were slick with saliva, bruised and reddened. He was loose, but only near the surface. Further in, he felt like a virgin, tight and yielding only to force. Maul growled, low in his throat, and thrust hard. He could feel the Light coalescing around him, attacking him, repelling him. Failing, utterly.

Maul's world condensed to a single point of contact surrounded by a pulsating battle in the Force. His hands on the Jedi's hips, his pelvis crushing into the soft flesh, every slap of their skin together drawing a hiss from himself and a whisper of pain from the Jedi. Around them, within them, the Force fought as well, Light striking out at Dark, Dark eddying around the Light like ink in cream. Tendrils sparked, curled away, whipped back, melded in places and repulsed in others.

It was the most incredible climax he'd ever had. If he hadn't known the need to keep up enough guard to ensure no one tried to take his saber staff, he'd probably have passed out. As it was, he grunted, shuddered from horn to sole once, pulled out, and had his saber staff lit and ready before the first attacker hit.

The Light was still enmeshed with his Dark, and his movements were too quick for the eye to follow. All three beings were dead before their bodies hit the floor. Maul calmly switched off the saber staff and fastened his leggings.

The Jedi lay curled where he'd been taken. For a moment, Maul thought he had somehow killed the man. Then the long body moved a fraction, and dark eyes stared up at him through the bright fall of hair. The Light was back where it belonged, and below the Light, blue eyes vowed vengeance. Maul started to step forward, nearly tripping on a severed arm, when he was distracted by a strange noise.

The Hutt was laughing. The albino servant murmured something to him, and the Hutt nodded, then levitated himself painfully from the throne. He rumbled something at Maul, then rolled out of the throne room. Maul spared one last glance at the Jedi, who'd gone back to staring at the cryocrypt holding his Master, then followed the Hutt from the room.

Fun was fun, but he had business to conduct.

 

Obi Wan lay in a puddle of blood not his own, staring at his master. He felt as if his soul had been torn from his body, shattered and thrown back at him in shards that cut into him like knives. His mind skipped through memories, and he found himself back aboard their cruiser, preparing to leave Tatooine, lingering an extra day for his master to check on a slave boy in the town, who'd shown unusual abilities in the force. He'd argued as much as he could; they had a mission waiting for them, they'd be back this way soon. The boy could wait. His master shook his head, and made for town.

The night had come, and Qui Gon had not.

"Master?" No signal on the commlink. No reassuring presence in the Force. The Light was dimmed. His master was in serious trouble.

The boy's home had been shambles. A woman cried in the corner, bowed over the body of a small child. Golden hair was matted with blood and brain matter. The boy. No potential now, merely a shell with no spirit intact. The woman was hysterical, unable to help, incapable of doing anything other than rocking in place and keening over her dead child. Distracted by her grief, he'd not noticed the arrival of the guards until the first bolt of energy had coursed through his body. Numb fingers had scrabbled for the hilt of his lightsaber.

The second bolt took him into darkness. He awoke in hell.

His mind skipped again, and the Hutt's leering face filled his field of vision. "They're not coming for you, boy," was the sibilant translation. "Your cruiser had an accident. You were vaporized. You're dead."

Saliva scalding his skin like acid. A prehensile tongue wielded like a weapon against his body. His master, caught, within his view but out of his reach. Brave and stupid mercenaries had tried to rape him, and he'd thrown them from him with all the frustration he felt channeled through the Force. But he did not use the Force against Jabba.

Jabba could kill his master.

And take pleasure in the killing.

Then a demon had come, filled with the Force, but so alien. Dark. A black hole of energy, and he'd fought with all his strength, only to have it taken from him and used against him. His knees hurt, his back hurt, there was a fire in his gut to match the one in his mind. Focusing inward in a desperate attempt to regain his center, reaching out with the Light to try once more to reach his master, he was surprised to hear thoughts filtering through his mind. The cloying sound of Jabba came through clearly, and the smokier sound of the demon answered back. In the private antechamber behind the throne room, the Hutt was making the demon an offer.

No.

No!

His eyes turned toward the cryocrypt as his heart and mind cried out to his Master, and the germ of an idea took root.

 

"A gesture of good faith," the Hutt's servant offered on his owner's behalf. "The Jedi, our common enemy. One killed, other yours. Jabba the Hutt becomes bored, enjoys seeing you master Jedi. Reward to you. Offer of good will to your Master."

Maul considered, for a bare moment. It was tempting, and Palpatine would no doubt appreciate Jinn's death. The fewer Jedi masters to overcome the better. But as delicious as the apprentice had been, it was too dangerous to allow the young Jedi to live.

That wouldn't stop him from sampling the taste once more.

"I will give you my answer tomorrow," he lied through his teeth. "Tonight, we settle our business."

The Hutt's eyes gleamed at him. He rumbled something. The servant smiled slyly. "Jabba the Hutt thanks you for one more night of pleasure before he turns the boy over to you."

Maul shrugged, then gestured at the holocube. Palpatine's image, cowled in black, appeared. The negotiations began.

The Hutt could do as he willed tonight. Tomorrow, Maul would have the Jedi once more, then kill both the master and the apprentice. The waste was a pity, but so it had to be.

 

Kenobi was waiting, crouched by the throne, when the Hutt struggled back up on the granite block. He saw his own reflection in the swirling golden eyes of his jailer, and it would have frightened him, if he'd been capable of fright by that point. Blood streaked his body, along his face where he'd been pushed into the mess on the floor as the demon had raped him, along his legs, over his feet, along his chest and belly. His eyes were wild, but concentrated completely on the Hutt. He was ready when the chain at his throat was pulled.

Jabba spat an order at his body servant, and the man left, eyes lingering on the white flesh streaked with black, crimson and yellow fluids. Obi Wan ignored him. As the room emptied except for himself and his captor, he allowed himself to be raised level to the Hutt's face, managing not to flinch as the tongue, wide as his torso, slathered his skin, licking up the blood and sweat from his body. Moving as slowly and as sinuously as possible given his chains, the young Jedi arched into the Hutt's grip, spreading his thighs and rubbing himself against the slaver's grainy hide.

Spittle leaked from the Hutt's gaping mouth, soaking Obi Wan's shoulder, running in a slimy trail down his spine. The claws on his collar chain tightened convulsively, and he had to apply the Force directly to keep himself levitated and prevent asphyxiation. Swallowing against the constriction around his throat, Kenobi did the most difficult thing he'd ever had to do.

He relaxed.

His limbs flowed against the Hutt like warm honey, his hair brushed up against the reptilian face. He undulated slightly and felt the Hutt draw a deep, gurgling gasp of unexpected arousal. Manipulating the locking mechanism in his wrist cuffs with the Force as Jabba excitedly swabbed at him with his tongue, coating him in saliva, Obi Wan sprang the cuff locks and had both his arms down the Hutt's throat before Jabba realized what had happened.

Strong jaws tried to snap shut around the Jedi's neck and shoulders, but Kenobi concentrated the Force and kept the Hutt immobile, unable to call out for help, unable to free himself. Eventually, unable to breathe. As the swirling eyes clouded over, Obi Wan freed one fist from its resting place in the Hutt's glottis, and slammed the tip of the swollen tongue over the trigger embedded in the dead being's cheek. The sensor read the genetic code of the tongue and reacted immediately. With a crackle of destabilizing force fields, the cryocrypt glided silently to the floor of the throne room, safely past the acid pit.

Fighting the urge to vomit that had been twisting his gut since he'd first approached Jabba, Obi Wan extracted his other fist, with some difficulty, from the rapidly swelling throat of the Hutt. Running on instinct, he ripped the collar from his throat, ripped the ankle cuff from his leg, and flew to his master's side.

Closing his eyes and moving with the Light, he traced pattern after pattern of the energy fields that he had tracked so often in the eight months of his captivity. This time, he didn't stop when he reached the locked T-junctions. The acid pit was no longer a threat, and he burned through the locks with fierce joy. As the last junction opened, the crypt hissed with decompression, and Master Jinn's body was slowly uncovered.

Shivering.

Trailing shaking hands over the soaking limbs, Obi Wan sought to bring some warmth back into his master's body, enough to get the older man mobile. They didn't have much time. Guards would be here soon, and they had to be-

A growl stopped him in his tracks.

How could he have forgotten the demon?

Kenobi pivoted in place, feet planted widely apart, hands flung out to his sides. The demon hadn't activated his saber yet, that strange dual headed light saber he'd used to such good effect on the mercenaries earlier. Red eyes glared at him, and an eerie smile lit the black and red patterned features. Obi Wan didn't think, didn't plan, simply prowled away from his master, toward the demon, gathered his strength, and threw everything he had into an attack through the Force.

The wall he hit nearly rendered him unconscious.

Luckily, his own blow seemed to have the same effect on the demon.

Something broke free, deep inside Obi Wan, and desperation joined with the soul-deep need to escape. The air around him arced with electricity, and the throne room degenerated into a battle zone as sconces flew from the walls, chains spun like living snakes through the air, and chunks of granite whirled madly between the two contestants. It sounded like a tornado and felt like the end of the world.

With a final wild wail, the young Jedi called upon every ounce of repressed energy from so many months of living like an animal, and threw it all at the demon. A slice of the throne, the size of a hovercraft, crashed into the demon, pinning him down, slamming his head against the granite floor. There was a sudden pause in the screaming confusion.

"Padawan." The voice was raw, barely a whisper. Obi Wan turned on his heel, swaying as he stood, and stared at his master. Qui Gon looked near death, shaking, shivering. One hand strained ineffectively at the ground, trying to push himself up. The other clamped helplessly around his torso, trying to contain the shuddering that shook his body.

Outside, now that the whistling of the wind had stopped, Obi Wan could hear the mercenaries massing. No time. He looked over at the demon. Red eyes stared dazedly back at him, hatred and desire weaving between them in the Force that had become a killing zone. He looked back at his master.

No time.

Turning his back on the demon, Kenobi ran to his master. Wrapping his arms around the wet, shaking body, he heaved with what strength he had left, along with generous help from his last reserves of the Force. Slipping and falling, picking themselves up and staggering forward again, they managed to make their way through the side corridors. Qui Gon was getting steadier as Obi Wan got shakier. By the time they made it to the Hutt's private hanger, Qui Gon was doing the supporting and Obi Wan was barely hanging on.

Lights spun crazily in front of his face as he felt himself pushed into a soft chair, much too large for his body. There was the muted roar of engines, then the push of acceleration against his chest, pressing him into the soft cushions. As they tore free of Tatooine's atmosphere, Kenobi's eyes closed and the darkness lapped over his mind.

He dreamed of demons.

 

Darth Maul shook the last of the painful haze from his head and spat blood over the granite pinning him down. Drawing in a deep breath, he slowly shifted the weight from his body, and lay there, feeling every broken bone. He had failed, and his master would not be pleased. He could return, report his failure, and accept his punishment.

Or he could follow the Light that had meshed with his Darkness, and return to his Master, eventually, with a prize that would mitigate his punishment.

There really was no choice at all.

 

Chosen 2: Broken

The demon chased him across space. He didn't feel the concussion of weapons fire against the sides of their stolen transport. Didn't hear the unusually coarse exclamation his master gave when the nav panel shorted out, nearly frying both of them in their seats. Wasn't aware of the hesitant tapping on his reserves of the Force, just enough to add to his master's sluggish reflexes, that allowed them to escape the pod of smugglers and paid assassins that passed as Jabba the Hutt's personal guard.

The first clear impression he had that wasn't laced with blood and pain was of thick, comforting fluid surrounding his body. It lasted only a moment, merely long enough for his semiconscious mind to pinpoint his location as the healing vats at the Temple, before his tenuous hold on reality was again lost to red, and yellow, and black, and nothingness.

The second time he awoke was to the sensation of crisp, cool sheeting against his skin.

Home. Or as close as he got to one. Coruscant. Convalescent unit at the healers' dome.

He waited, but the expected rush of security and comfort didn't come. In a stab of panic so rare it was practically unrecognizable as such, he sent out a distress call through the Force.

His master didn't answer.

Five other masters did.

Their voices overlapped, deafening him, and he curled into a small fetal ball, clamping his arms over his head to shut out the noise. When the clamor didn't diminish he finally realized that they were speaking through the Force, trying to calm him, trying to reach him.

He didn’t want to be reached.

Obi Wan Kenobi closed his eyes, met the demon, and surrendered to the darkness from the hole in the center of his mind.

 

Deep in meditation in the private antechamber outside Yoda's quarters, it took a moment for the meaning of the incoherent wail tearing into his mind to make sense. Master Jinn unwrapped himself from his meditation pose so quickly he nearly pulled a muscle in his groin, reminding himself that although he felt perfectly fine, his body had been in a deep freeze for several months, and it would take some time for his muscles to forgive him the harsh treatment.

Not that a minor muscle ache could compare to the torment clawing at him through the Force. His padawan was in serious pain. He reached the door in two very long strides and nearly flattened Yoda, who made no comment, simply moved aside and let the tall Human barge through. Jinn's normal grace and tranquility were completely absent as he flew down the hall, out the door and threw himself into a hovercraft. Steering it toward the Healers' Dome, unashamedly using every trick he knew to clear the way, he made it to his apprentice's side in a third the time the trip would usually take.

Judging by the sight that met him when he stepped through the door, it had taken too long.

Obi Wan was wound into the tightest knot he'd ever seen a fully grown Human make. His entire body was shaking, and the bed was shaking along with him. Healers were gathered around the bed trying their hardest to cast a Force buffer of calm around the trembling body, but they were meeting a strange sort of resistance.

Not only was his Padawan fighting Light with Light, and winning, but there was an odd cast to the fight. The usual pearly glare of Light was nearly opaque, and it had disturbing ripples through it, as if onyx had seeped into opal and become one with the stone.

The trembling Qui Gon felt running through his connection with his apprentice began to manifest itself in him, as well. A shudder began at the nape of his neck and worked down to his knees. As horrible as Obi Wan's experiences had been on Tatooine, there was something even worse implied by those dark tendrils slithering through his presence. Before he could put a name to the vague trepidation making his knees quake, the world went suddenly black.

 

Kwold Wabver had seen many things in her years as a Master Healer. The connection between Master and Padawan ran deeply, and illnesses or injuries to one were often felt through the bond by the other.

When Qui Gon Jinn's eyes rolled up in his head and he went down like felled tree, she should have been expecting it. Would have, in fact, if all her attention hadn't been caught up in the fight to keep Obi Wan Kenobi's mind from shattering into microfragments. So when two hundred pounds of deadweight Jedi Master landed on her, she lost her grip with every one of her tentacles and sprawled directly on top her distressed patient.

The results were rather spectacular, if amazingly painful.

Kenobi exploded out of his fetal position into a whirl of flailing arms and legs -- well trained and forceful arms and legs. In addition, he threw out a charge of repulsive energy through the Force that collapsed the healing buffer like wet tissue and flung her bodily away from him, hurling her nearly ten feet through the air, her flight finally and painfully stopped when she impacted with the far wall and slid to land in an ungainly heap on the floor. She distinctly heard a pop and a squish as her left foretentacle broke near the stem joint. Her lower left quadrant went dead in a genetic response to trauma, fluid loss and shock.

That hurt.

From her vantage point on the floor, wishing she was more numb than she was, she saw all four other healers reel away from the bed as if blown by a strong wind. Kenobi paused for a bare instant, then rolled and dropped, spread-eagled, covering as much of his master's body as he could. A low, keening growl issued from deep in his chest, and feral blue eyes stared around at the carnage of the convalescing room. He looked as if he was daring anyone to try to harm his master, as if he would enjoy ripping their throats out with his teeth.

By the Light. They had a great deal of work to do before this one would be fit for company again.

Motioning the other healers back with her functioning foretentacle, she painfully inched her way forward, ensuring that she stayed far enough away that the young padawan would not consider her a threat to his master. As gently as a whisper, she thought to him, _Obi Wan? I will not harm you. I will not harm your master. You are safe. He is safe. You can relax, young one. You are safe._

He growled at her. She sent out a quick questing tendril of the Force, and checked on Master Jinn's condition. All his vital signs were within normal range for a Human recovering from prolonged hypothermia and exhaustion. He was in a deep sleep, not a coma, and not at risk from his padawan's bizarre, if protective, actions.

She intensified the pitch of her whisper, deepened the timbre, and poured every bit of reassurance she could into the link. _You have done well, young one. You may rest now. He is safe. Your master is safe. You have protected him. It is time for you to rest._

Heavy lids gradually lowered over those blazing eyes, but his grip didn't lessen on his master. She sighed again, and sent a thought command to her team. Gingerly, they formed a Force net below the entwined figures and lifted them gently to the bed.

Leaving the two Jedi unconscious, still draped around one another, on the bed, Kwold nodded permission for her second to come assist her to a healing tank. This situation would require delicate handling to repair. She hoped it would not be beyond their capabilities. Much depended on the young one, how strong he was, and how willing he would be to face and conquer what had happened to him. In this, the bond between master and padawan so forcefully expressed would be his greatest ally.

She grimaced as her left foretentacle was braced, flushed, and sealed, then lay back in the healing balm and stared at the ceiling.

A great deal of work to be done. Most of it, by the victims themselves. She sincerely hoped it would be possible. The waste would be appalling were it not.

 

Obi Wan swam back to the surface painfully. For the first time in months, his mind was clear, and his body was ridiculously weak. He had a vague recollection of fighting off another attack and throwing himself over his master in an attempt to protect him, but he couldn't pinpoint the source of the attack nor from whom he was trying to protect Qui Gon.

It was all very confusing.

A broad, multi-hued face filled his field of vision, and he summoned his best attempt at a smile for the being, tentatively placing her as a Healer, but not sure where the information came from. She looked as if she had been in a battle recently. Abrasions turned her colors even brighter than her usual array, one of her tentacles was strapped to an immobilizing board, and she was walking with a limp.

"You look as in need of succor as I feel, Healer," he managed to rasp. His throat felt lacerated and the state of his voice reflected the pain. "Did you catch the Sith who did that?"

The joke fell flat, although both her mouths smiled dutifully. It was his own preoccupation that distracted him. Sith.

Something about a Sith.

Without warning, a face overlaid hers, red eyes glaring yellow lust at him, black and red skin hot against him. He moaned, a short, high sound of anguish, and twisted in the bed, trying to escape. Unable to move.

"Calm yourself, Padawan Kenobi," came the stern command, a Master's voice, but not his own. He bit his lips until the lower one bled, cutting off the sound. A gentle touch, the brush-brush of suckers across the wound, and the pain eased.

Not the vision.

It lay in wait for him, behind a fog in his mind, ready to ambush him when he least expected it. He didn't know how he knew it, but he did. The Force was whispering to him, urgently, incessantly.

"Master?" he asked quietly. She answered immediately.

"He is resting, young one. As you should be as well."

The cool touch came again, the small suckers like tiny mouths kissing away the lines of tension on his face, and with great misgiving, he relaxed enough to finally fall asleep naturally.

A rustling sound from the next bed alerted the Healer to Master Jinn's awakening. She turned to find him balanced none too steadily on the edge of the bed.

"I sense a strong disturbance in the Force," he said questioningly, the words directed at her but his gaze firmly on his apprentice. "Is Obi Wan all right?"

"Not yet," she replied, resting her right foretentacle on his shoulder to help steady him. "Was he able to give you any information about the events of his captivity? Physically, he is not too badly damaged." She glanced back at the young man lying unmoving on the bed. "There is evidence of malnutrition, exhaustion, abrasions where restraints were placed, contusions from beatings, and sexual abuse."

Bright blue eyes stared into her. She hastened to explain further. "Some tissue damage, muscle strain, a few tears, and saliva and semen retrieved from the rectum. Saliva was identified as being from a Hutt, but the semen has as yet not been identified."

A shudder ran through the Jedi master, and his brow creased with worry and pain for his apprentice. "He was in no condition to tell me anything," he said softly. "He was too busy saving my life."

She patted him sympathetically once more, then put on a more professional mien. "And your little reaction this morning? We could ascertain it was an overload through the Force connection between you, but were unable to determine its composition or cause." She paused and arched an eyestalk at him. "Care to elaborate? Able to?"

Jinn shook his head. "I don't know." Another eyestalk arched and he shrugged, spreading his hands wide in a gesture of confusion. "There was something … there … right before I lost consciousness, but I can't remember what it was. It was too unclear, too fleeting."

Her eyes closed in disappointment, then flared open again. "If it happens again, or you recall any further details, let me know immediately. There appear to be no lasting harmful effects this once, but it is unexplained, and worrisome."

"Immediately," he assured her, then rose from the side of the bed and went over to stand over Obi Wan, staring down at the pale face and the tangle of red gold hair. "He will be all right." It wasn't quite a question, not quite a pronouncement.

She felt his concern, and responded to it as honestly as she could. "With time, and healing, and the Force, we believe he shall be."

Settling himself onto a stool beside the bed, he reached out and laid one large hand over his Padawan's smaller one. "He shall be."

 

A shrouded figure stared at the holoimage of his apprentice and shook his head, slowly. "My plans will not be hindered by your impudence or petty need for revenge. Forget the Jedi boy. I have a mission for you."

Glowing eyes fell before the command in their master's face, and the need, the addiction, was pushed into a corner of his mind. There would be a way to complete his mission and still slake his addiction.

He would find a way.

 

"The Senate does not recognize the right of the Trade Federation to speak at this juncture!"

Pandemonium.

"Our planet has been invaded, our people slaughtered! Our Queen has been assassinated in her own palace and her guard decimated! The very Jedi sent to protect Naboo turned against her! We demand action! We demand response! We demand justice!"

It was going precisely as planned. Beneath his righteous indignation, his eyes glittered. The massed political might of the Republic mistook it for tears.

Only the latest of their misjudgments. Soon, it would be within his grasp. The timetable had accelerated, but that was as it should be. There would be balance in the Force.

It would be tilted in his favor.

 

The strands of Fate wove together much more quickly than he had anticipated. The time of vengeance was at hand, and his own personal quest was woven into a tapestry much grander than Maul had hoped to anticipate so soon. Something had shifted in the Force, a small warp in the weave that he could trace back to the explosive joining of his body and the young Jedi apprentice's.

It haunted him. The ripples spread from that battle to this, increasing exponentially, washing everything away in their path.

It felt incredibly good.

 

"No, master." Obi Wan stared at his reflection in the window, not needing to see Qui Gon glowering at him from the center of the room to know it was happening. He could feel it between his shoulder blades.

"It has been five months, Padawan. You are healed in body, and healing in mind. You have to stop hiding sometime."

Obi Wan ran one hand through the thick mop of hair that now hung past his shoulders, the point of contention between himself and his master. The current point of contention, anyway. It seemed since he'd been released from the Healers' Dome there had been a series of them. He didn't know what was wrong with himself, but was well aware that something was. "I'm not hiding, master. I just … don't want to cut my hair."

A sound suspiciously like a snort came from his usually dignified master. "You won't cut your hair. You won't join the other apprentices in practice. You won't eat in the common room. You won't listen to counsel from the other masters." There was a pause, and Obi Wan distinctly heard his master swallow. "You won't talk to me." Another pause, but he could find nothing to say to fill it. "This will not go on."

There was a ring of finality to it. From out of nowhere the question bubbled up. "Will you nominate me to the trials, master?" He could actually taste his Master's incredulity at the thought through their bond.

"No." _Are you serious? You are barely healed. Emotionally, you are extremely fragile. You are acting completely out of character. Why are you suddenly so intent on trials you are in no condition to undertake?_

He smiled at his reflection in the window, comforted as always by the feel of his master's voice in his mind. _I_ _need something from you, Master. Something you would not be willing to share with a Padawan. Something you could give a Knight._

_Anything you need, I will do my utmost to provide._

Obi Wan shook his head. _Not this time, Master._

_You will not know unless you ask. _So calm.

_But if I ask and you refuse, I will have nowhere else to turn._

_I will not refuse you_, Qui Gon promised. _Not if it is within my power to grant, and lies within the Light_.

Obi Wan's head came forward and he leaned against the cool glass. _I need … for you to take away the demon_.

"Demon?"

Before Obi Wan could say more, could force himself to unburden the one final part of his imprisonment that he had been unable to tell anyone, even his master, a siren cut through the tranquility of the Temple. Both Jedi reacted without thought, instinctively grabbing their lightsabers and heading at a run toward the council chamber.

Less than a hundred yards from the hall, the Temple was rocked to its foundation by a series of devastating explosions. The Force was flooded with agony, as Sensitives at all levels were wrenched from existence with the blasts. Klaxons not heard since they were first needed battling the Sith a millennia before were screaming alarm, lights were glaring, smoke and dust from the falling debris clouded the air. Jedi, masters, knights, and apprentices, support staff, healers, anyone still ambulatory, ran, crawled, flew and slid toward any solid place they could find in the disintegrating buildings.

It was pandemonium.

Kenobi stared in shock at the gutted hole in the flooring that used to be the main Council chamber. A tiny voice gibbered in the back of his mind that the Council had been in session, something about turmoil in the senate, and who could survive … A large hand clamped on his upper arm and, Force assisted, yanked him away from the disaster area just as a chunk of marble and steel thundered down on them from above.

_We have to get out of here, Obi Wan_. Urgency made the mind-voice so loud he winced and covered his ears in an instinctive motion.

  
_But what about --_ He couldn't even form a picture, much less articulate the plea.

_Survivors?_

_Yes_!

_Feel_.

He did.

He couldn't.

There was nothing there.

All around him, the building was groaning, tearing itself apart. Around Coruscant, he could hear explosions, the shrieks of the dying, a massive pounding that went through the surface maze of buildings and into the core of the planet itself.

Planet killers.

Dazed, he followed his Master to the escape pods at the heart of the Temple. There were very few left, as what few beings survived scrambled to escape before the planet was torn to pieces. Qui Gon pulled him into a tiny pod, barely room enough for one, much less two, when one was the size of his master. Slamming the seal shut, he scanned the room one last time.

No one.

Dead, or dying, or already escaped.

Trembling, Obi Wan put his hands on the controls and pressed his back against Qui Gon's torso. "Hang on," he cautioned needlessly, then wrapped one strong fist around the stick and punched the afterthrusters with his other hand. He skipped the warm-up and hit full acceleration. The pod lurched forward then swooped into a combat takeoff, straight up and away from the rapidly crumbling ruins of the Jedi temple below them.

Blasters from the droid fighters seared all around them, but Obi Wan flew as one possessed. He cushioned himself against the buffer of hard-fought calm coming from his Master behind him, and drew upon every ounce of the Force he had within him, even the unsettling tendrils that had made the last months so difficult.

Something worked, better than anything had ever worked in his life. The pod twisted and soared through the dense bank of attack fighters, weaving through the phalanx as if they were air. Escaping the planetary atmosphere, he was lining up the pod to evade the battle ring orbiting Coruscant, when an immense wave of compressed air, chunks of matter and a tremendous fireball washed the small craft ahead of it like a cork on the tide.

Coruscant. Or what remained of it.

The concussion from the final explosion of the planet's core tossed the pod free of the cordon of attack craft ringing the battle area, and nearly shook both Jedi from their skin as well. Obi Wan fought the intense heat, the wild shaking and the balky controls to wrest the pod to some semblance of control. When the shaking finally stopped, he took a deep breath and relaxed a fraction of an inch. That was all the room there was between him and his master. Qui Gon didn't object.

Staring at the readings, shocked at how far the explosion had catapulted them from where Coruscant had been, he asked, "Master? Where to?"

"What's available?" The deep voice was faint. Probably from Obi Wan's weight against his ribs. He tried to sit up, further away, but a long arm wrapped around his waist prevented him from moving. "It's all right, Obi Wan. What's closest? We have no food and no water on this craft, and limited oxygen."

He stared harder at the dials, willing the information to make some sense. Finally, he saw something.

"There's one option, Master."

"Take it."

Obi Wan forced a tiny grin. "Don't you want to know what it is?"

"Do we have any choice?" Shock was starting to wear on both of them, and Kenobi lost his grin as reality sank in.

"Dagobah it is, then."

 

Chosen 3:  Trials

They had spoken little since Obi Wan had brought the escape pod to a landing on one of the few dry spots on the swamp planet of Dagobah. His apprentice had busied himself creating a camp, salvaging what was available from the pod and spending long hours combing the swamps for everything from foodstuffs to bed lining. Qui Gon considered pressing the issue, but as had become the norm for the Jedi master, greater concerns overwhelmed personal ones. Obi Wan's avoidance of him would have to work its course, and when it was time, they would speak of the things that were blocking his apprentice from full healing. Until that time, other needs had to be given higher priority.

He spent hours each day in meditation, straining himself to the limits of his abilities in an attempt to contact someone, anyone, through the Force. It was as if he was trying to fight while wrapped in smothering blankets. Something was out there, but it was so faint, flickering, and he couldn't pinpoint its direction, much less any real evidence of survivors.

Technology was as useless as his efforts through the Force. The comm unit in the pod was meant for sending distress calls, not receiving them, and given the unexpected nature and devastating consequences of the attack on Coruscant, he didn't want to risk sending out a beacon. He had no way of knowing who would hear it, and if he would be sending a siren call to those who would kill them.

"It's potable, Master."

He started at Obi Wan's soft voice, opening his eyes to see a hollowed out gourd serving as a drinking cup being held under his nose. The steam rising from the contents actually smelt good. His stomach rumbled in response. "Thank you, Padawan." Obi Wan nodded, then withdrew to the other side of the fire, not meeting his eyes.

"No need to ask if you've had any luck," Obi Wan said quietly, poking at the glowing embers, coaxing more warmth from the sodden sticks.

"No," Qui Gon agreed. "Will you tell me, now, what you meant when you spoke of a demon?"

The abrupt change of subject took the younger man off-guard, as it was intended to do. Qui Gon could feel the shields slam up within their bond, and sighed. Staring at the bowed head, the shadowed eyes hidden behind the heavy fall of hair, he realized at least one reason why his apprentice refused to cut that mop of hair. It made a surprisingly good barrier behind which he could hide. It was frustrating, and disappointing. As if feeling the emotion, difficult to believe given the strength of the shielding keeping their thoughts apart, Obi Wan lifted his head and stared at him.

There were too many shadows in those eyes.

"Not yet, Master." The lad jumped to his feet and headed back into the swamps. "We need more fuel. I'll be back soon."

Qui Gon wasn't so sure he would. Not the padawan he'd known, anyway. Unable to probe more deeply without risking injury to Obi Wan's still healing psyche, he counseled patience to himself and settled back into his meditations. His normal calm demeanor was becoming nearly impossible to maintain.

There had to be someone out there. Someone friendly. Someone who wasn't trying to kill them. He'd find them.

  
He had to. Before someone unfriendly found them.

 

Kenobi stepped over the treacherous ground absently, using the Force to avoid pitfalls in a way that had become second nature over the years. Scanning for usable fuel on autopilot, his mind had too much time to wander.

Behind the fog, the demon lurked. It came out after dark, when he closed his eyes to sleep, when he tried to relax. It laughed at him, mocked him, hurt him, and he was powerless to stop it. Even worse, in the dreams, he didn't fight.

He submitted.

It pleasured him.

It frightened him.

He turned to it, not away from it.

It felt right.

It couldn't, but it did.

He could feel the influence of whatever it had infected him with growing each day. He couldn't speak to his master about the problem; how could he with so many other, greater, problems besieging them? They had to survive, reach others. Restore justice to the galaxy, save lives. Do all the things Jedi were supposed to do. His petty problems of confusion and conflict were minor compared to the task ahead of them.

Of course, he wouldn't be much use completing that task if he was stark staring mad. If he didn't get some sleep soon, he would be. If he didn't stop dreaming, he'd never get any sleep. If he couldn't exorcise the demon, he'd never stop dreaming.

He didn't have an inkling of an idea how to exorcise the demon. Well, one idea, but it would require more of his master than the man was willing to give. To an apprentice.

Besides, he couldn't ask his master. His master had more important things on his mind.

Full circle. His thoughts were chasing themselves full circle.

For the first time in his life he truly understood Master Yoda's contention that frustration was a direct path to the Dark Side.

Distractions or no, this could not go on any longer. He had one chance. He would take it.

 

The crackle of fuel being dumped none too gently on the fire, stoking it high, pulled Jinn from his meditations. It was just as well. He hadn't been getting anywhere, and he was becoming very drained from the effort. He glanced up at his apprentice, and was caught by the intensity of the boy's gaze.

"Master, we are in crisis."

It was unlike his padawan to state the obvious. He nodded, encouraging Obi Wan to continue.

"The Jedi have been decimated. We are in a state of war with enemies unknown. Any and all resources must be used to their fullest capacity." Kenobi stopped and drew in a deep breath. Qui Gon watched quietly, wondering precisely where this was leading. He hadn't long to wonder. "I am ready to take the trials to become a full Knight, master. And I am needed, not as a student, but as a warrior. Given the loss," Obi Wan swallowed, and Qui Gon felt his own throat tighten, "of the Council, will you recognize me as a Knight?"

Qui Gon fought his initial, immediate negative response. Giving it some thought, delving into the Force to guide him, he answered slowly, "You are correct in our circumstances, Padawan. But your logic is faulty. Every Jedi is needed, that is true -- but needed at the level of their abilities to meet the challenge, and we don't yet know precisely what that challenge is. It would be ill advised, and lead to failure, to expect more from a man than he can give, and send him into battle with those expectations on his head." He stopped and looked searchingly at his apprentice, hoping the truth in his words were sinking in. "You are an excellent fighter, Obi Wan, but you are also still healing from your ordeal on Tatooine. You are impulsive and headstrong, and you need more training in dealing with the Living Force, especially with the recent traumatic disruptions in the Force. You are not yet ready to be a Knight. It's not yet your time, my Padawan."

Stricken blue eyes stared across the flames at him, then heavy lashes lowered to hide them from him. A thick fall of hair fell forward, screening most of the boy's face from him. "Yes, master."

Such a wealth of despair in the agreement, turning it to a denial. "Your time will come, Padawan," he said as reassuringly as he could. "Not right now. Not quite yet."

A shrug of broad shoulders under the coarse brown robe, and another quiet, "Yes, master," didn't reassure him. Before he could find a way to tell Obi Wan that he should be patient, the lad curled up on his bed of grasses and pulled his robe closely about himself. Qui Gon caught himself before he could say anything more, and settled for a gentle, "Good night, Padawan. Sleep well."

His only answer was a strained, short laugh. Unsettled, Qui Gon pulled his own robe around himself and stared off into the shadows of the surrounding swamp. Something would have to be done about his apprentice, but he didn't for the life of him know what.

 

He'd tried.

He failed.

He knew full well that Qui Gon Jinn was not the type of master who would ever consider doing what needed to be done to exorcise this demon with a mere padawan, no matter how close they were. A student was to be protected, guided, taught and nurtured. The level of trust between student and teacher must be absolute and inviolate. For a master to engage in carnal activity with his apprentice was to abuse that trust.

He'd had to be a Knight to get what he needed, what every instinct he had told him was the only way to dissolve the strange hold the demon had on his mind and his body. Displace the bad with the good, the dark with the light.

His master refused him.

There was a pattern here, something deep inside him laughed bitterly. The first time he'd met a Hutt, the bastard had nearly killed him, and Qui Gon Jinn had refused him. The last time he'd met a Hutt, he'd killed the bastard himself. And Qui Gon Jinn was still refusing him. The first instance had been the beginning of his life as a Jedi.

The last instance might well be the end of it.

His mind chased itself in tighter and tighter circles, and he was unable to relax or even attempt to fall asleep. He knew, as surely as he knew his heart was beating, that to close his eyes would be to invite disaster.

Several hours later, in the darkest hour of the night, he gave up the battle. His eyes drifted closed.

The demon struck.

Flashfire coated his nerves, resounded through his muscles. Fingers and toes clenched, his body arched in the soft grasses, writhing against an unseen, too well familiar foe. His legs worked to buck off the attacker, arms striking out at air, breath catching in harsh sobs deep in his throat. His thrashing movements and wrenching moans disturbed the other sleeper, who rose, concerned, to check on the young man in the grip of the nightmare.

Through the haze of red washing his dreams, Obi Wan felt another presence. Warm balm, soothing his fear and anger, reaching him through the confusion and need tying him in knots. His arms shot out at the presence in a Force-assisted move that took them both by surprise. By the time Qui Gon reacted, and Obi Wan woke fully, the older man was supine in the grass, straddled and pinned by the younger.

Red-rimmed, desperate blue eyes looked down into startled lighter blue, and Obi Wan knew that he would not, could not, let the opportunity pass. The demon had to be displaced. What would not be given must be taken.

He could pay the penalty after. He knew he would. For now, there was no stopping the tide of events that had overtaken them.

Kenobi lowered his head, bypassing his master's open mouth, ignoring the questioning words and calming noises rumbling out of Qui Gon. He fastened his mouth at the base of that strong throat, soaking up the taste of sweat and skin. His hands sought out further proof of his master's grounding presence, skimming over rounded shoulders and sharply delineated ribs, the indent of waist, the breadth of back below the loosened robes. One knee slid between Qui Gon's thighs, levering them apart, settling himself deeply against Qui Gon's pelvis, rocking gently, firmly. Above his head he could hear the beginnings of protest, but he simply delved deeper, reaching out through the Force with all the pent-up need of months of denial.

 

Master Jinn didn't stand a chance.

Distracted by the return of the unsettling tendrils of darkness in his pupil's life Force he'd first sensed months before, over-run with the physical demands from the desperate man his padawan had become, and already at the end of his own strength from days spent reaching out through the Force for survivors, his resistance collapsed at the concentrated assault. Obi Wan invaded him, flooded him with desire mixed with a hungering need the strength of which he'd never before encountered, and conquered him with the first thrust.

In a mirror reflection of the tide of desire washing over him, Qui Gon's hands came up to tear as strongly at Obi Wan's clothing as the younger man's were tearing at his own. In a very short time they were naked together, skin sliding along skin with a gasp of relief, hands tangling in hair, limbs twining together with the feeling of homecoming. Qui Gon couldn't breathe, couldn't take in enough air to steady his spinning head. Obi Wan's mouth was over his, stealing what air he could capture, taking him from one peak of desire to another.

The living Force washed between them, a tapestry of opal and mother of pearl, shining iridescent with love and acceptance. He didn't know why this was so necessary to his padawan, but he knew it was, and even if he could have stopped at this point he would not have done so. Shot through the tapestry were veins of shining hematite and pockets of obsidian, a shadowing of darkness he's never seen before, somehow strengthening the Force between them in a way he'd never felt.

A small corner of his mind was crying out to him that this was wrong, but it was overwhelmed by the sheer weight of all the aspects of the joining that felt so right. The demands of his conscience had no power against the demands of his apprentice's need. As Obi Wan shifted above him, then lowered to take Qui Gon inside himself, the voice dissipated like smoke on the wind, and all that remained was the connection. Shimmering through and between them, the Force glimmered like a shower of polished diamonds in the sunlight. Then heat, and movement, urgency and sweet hunger, transmuted into strength, into power, into an explosion of light in his mind, in the Force around them.

Into darkness.

 

A jolt in the depths of his mind ripped Qui Gon from an exhausted sleep. Obi Wan was asleep beside him, curled into his side, head butting into his ribs. The soft fall of hair over his stomach gave him a second, smaller jolt, but before he could do more than run his hand through the tangles, the heavy head lifted and dazed eyes looked up at him.

_Survivors_. He sent a wave of urgency through their bond to wake Obi Wan up quickly.

_Master_? His Padawan's mind-voice was groggy.

_Heading_ _here_. _Close_.

Without a spoken word, Jinn rolled away from their bed and dressed himself in the torn robes scattered in the grasses beside them. Behind him, he could feel the questions suppressed unasked in Obi Wan's mind.

No time, not now.

Grabbing his hair back with one hand and the hilt of his light saber with the other, he headed for the muted thump of heavy engines just discernible in the distance. The sound of footfalls slightly behind him reassured him that his apprentice was at his side, as it should be.

Concentrating on the moment, on determining friend from foe, he pushed aside all considerations of things that should or should not be, and sped through the swamps toward the source of the disturbance.

 

Obi Wan had slept soundly for the first time in months, but at what cost? The solid warmth of his Master beside him had kept the memories of the demon at bay, and the feel of their lovemaking, no matter the compulsion, had erased the feel of his violation, at least for the moment. But the strangeness he felt in the Force hadn't lessened; if anything, it was stronger.

Their rude awakening had kept him from questions, and from questioning. He'd felt the disturbance in the Force even as he could feel his master withdrawing from him, reacting to the possibility of threat. Now, panting lightly after their silent run through the swamp, he crouched beside Qui Gon in the swampy undergrowth and watched intently as a sleek star shuttle landed with a solid thump in the clearing. He ran one hand through his hair, fingertips lingering on the end of his padawan braid.

He'd wanted to prove himself worthy of his master. Instead, he'd given in to the fear, the hunger, and for all he knew, lost his only chance to attain what he truly needed. He shook the thought off. No time for that now.

The landing doors opened, the ramp lowered, and a figure he recognized clumped unsteadily partway down the walkway, a towering presence hovering behind him. Yoda! He exchanged quick glances with his master. There was relief and a measure of disbelief in Qui Gon's expression. Before either Jedi could speak, a grumpy voice echoed around them.

"Show yourselves. Getting younger, I am not."

In spite of the heaviness in his spirit, Obi Wan couldn't quite contain his grin. Beside him, Qui Gon shook his head, once, as if to clear it, then moved slowly from their cover toward the craft. "Yoda," he called. "Mace." There was warm welcome in his greeting, and it was echoed in the expressions of the Masters coming toward them.

Oddly uncomfortable, Kenobi hung back, until bright eyes stared up at him from knee level. "Pleased to see you intact, we are. Felt the pull of the Force. Wise to come here, you were, and safe we may be. But not for long."

"We've set up camp a distance from here, but I can assure you your cruiser is dryer," Jinn offered with a wave in the general direction of their encampment.

"And the food's better, I'd bet," Master Windu added dryly.

"Padawan Kenobi's not a bad forager, and a better cook, but you're probably right."

Obi Wan stared holes in his master's back, but Qui Gon didn't acknowledge him. Yoda stared slowly from one to the other, then waved his walking stick at the group. "Inside. Wet here, and cold. Home, for me, yes, but not for you. In you go."

The two Human masters preceded him, but he raised the staff to block Kenobi's way. "Patience, young Kenobi. Your time, it will be. Sooner than you may think. Unexpected is your path, and difficult, but necessary it is." Ancient eyes stared at him with the disturbingly clear shine of knowledge in them. Yoda reached over with one tiny hand and patted Obi Wan's shin. "Follow your heart, you must. Look beyond your eyes. Easy, it will not be." Then the diminutive Master snorted, nodded once, sharply, and turned to shuffle into the cruiser. Obi Wan stared after him, not as confused as he half wished he could be. There had been sense in those pronouncements. He just wasn't sure he wanted to hear it.

The ramp began to ascend and he slid forward a few paces before he gathered himself and followed the trio of masters into the warm confines of the cruiser.

He'd figure it out. Later. When he must.

 

The remnants of the Senate were in complete disarray. The Jedi Council had been struck, apparently from within, by rogue elements in their ranks who wished to gain power over the galaxy; the conspiracy had been unmasked on Naboo.

An interim Senate was established on an outer world, but pandemonium reigned. World after world pulled their representatives from the Senate as matters at home took turns for the worse; civil war was spreading with the speed of unchecked plague as the Guardians of the Galaxy disappeared.

Evil ran rampant across a hundred worlds. Then a thousand, ripples flowing from the black hole that had once been the center of the galaxy, seeping out in all directions.

The Republic was in chaos.

A strong voice for justice was heard thundering to the few remaining delegates. Fear and confusion clouded their minds, and the last hope for order in the insanity shone like a beacon from the seat of the Naboo delegation. It took a few stirring speeches from the august Senator and Supreme Chancellor-elect, and several explicit examples of chaos unchecked on home worlds, for the Republic to crumble.

At the dawn of a new age, an Emperor was crowned, to bring justice to the remains of the Republic. He shone like a beacon.

A beacon of darkness.

 

Assassin droids swarmed over the surface of a myriad of planets scattered throughout the galaxy. Quermian mind powers were no match for sheer firepower. Knights faced the challenge of death, and lost in droves, in the alleys and pathways of Nar Shaddaa, in the ports of Corellia, the serene valleys of Lannika that now ran with blood. Even the powers of the best and brightest on Cerea had not had enough warning through the Force to escape the havoc.

None saw the dogs of war until they were clamped, helpless in jaws with no give, no mercy.

A black shrouded figure strode through the smoking ruins of the parliament chamber on Alderaan, and sighed, impatiently. The work was going well. Terror was washing over the galaxy in waves. His master's plans were coming to fruition nicely. His own, private mission was unacceptably stalled. He'd looked, on every planet he'd conquered. He'd searched, with the odd vibration in the Force he'd felt since he took the Jedi, and he'd found no match, anywhere. But the connection, tenuous as it was, remained.

The Jedi was still out there.

He hadn't died in Galactic City when Coruscant was destroyed.

Maul could feel him.

Glittering eyes stared at the display of worlds yet to be subjugated before him. Things were well in hand here. It was time he visited the Rim. Returned to the beginning.

Tatooine.

 

"Organize a resistance, we must." Yoda paused in his explanation, and Mace Windu continued the tale.

"There are pockets of fighters loyal to the Republic still on many worlds, but the Jedi are being assassinated everywhere we're being found. We have to move quickly, but very carefully."

"The Sith will be able to feel us if we use the Force directly," Qui Gon thought aloud. "They'll recognize a Force signature at the master level easily. We'll have to infiltrate, organize, and get back out, using the Force as little as possible, spreading the resistance at ground level. It must be done quickly. Start a fire on as many fronts as possible, then --"

"Send in a direct team to take out the root of the evil." Windu was calm and resolute as they planned the assassination.

"Emperor Palpatine." Yoda sounded like he was spitting the name.

"Master Yoda," Obi Wan broke in quietly. "I have more learning to do, I know." He carefully didn't look at his master. "But I am ready, and the trials of Knighthood are more than a ritual. At this point, they're life and death."

Jinn started to protest, and Yoda raised his hand. The protest was strangled, barely held behind tightened lips. Obi Wan kept his attention on the senior Master. The small face stared at him, through him at something no one else could see, then focused back on him.

"The Jedi Council is no more. Correct, you are, in the gravity of the situation. Correct, as well, in your readiness for this test." A sound escaped Qui Gon, and Yoda swiveled to stare up at him. "With your mind, you must decide, Master Jedi, and not your heart." Yoda turned to Master Windu, staring at him for a moment in silent communication, then turned back to Obi Wan and nodded. "A Knight you will be, young Kenobi. If these trials you survive, the gratitude of the galaxy as well you shall have."

Windu had closed his eyes, and was conferring with Yoda on a level Obi Wan could not access. From the look on his face, Qui Gon could, and he didn't agree.

"He's too young. He still needs work!" His master was fighting the decision, but he was outnumbered, not least by Obi Wan's own determination to go, Knight or not.

"Work he shall have, in plenty," Yoda replied sadly. Windu nodded agreement.

"Your trial, Jedi Kenobi, is to travel the outer worlds and gather resistance to the rule of the Emperor. When called, you shall join us in the final assault. Go with the Light, and return in the Light."

"May the Force be with you," Yoda said with finality.

Kenobi turned and walked from the room.

After a single glare at his fellow masters, Qui Gon followed him.

He caught up with Obi Wan in the communications room. His padawan was staring out through the port up into the soggy foliage covering the canopy.

"Will you wish me Light in my trials, Master?" he asked quietly.

"Do not run from this, Obi Wan," Qui Gon said sternly, ignoring the question for the moment. "Don't rush into something you're not prepared to face just to escape facing me."

The young man turned around then, and Qui Gon was taken aback at how old the pale features appeared. "I will never run from you, Master." Holding his hand out, palm up, he offered the contents to Qui Gon. His padawan braid lay coiled in the center of his palm. "Will you accept my thanks for your wisdom, Master? Will you wear my years as your badge?"

Qui Gon stepped back. "You have not yet earned that privilege, Padawan." The emphasis burned at Kenobi, and he flinched, dropping his hand. His mental shields slid firmly back into place. Qui Gon softened his tone and stepped forward again. "Please, Obi Wan, think this through."

"I may not be back to offer again," Kenobi answered even more quietly.

Reaching up, he wove the long braid around his throat like a choker, and tied the ends together at the nape of his neck. The sight disturbed Qui Gon profoundly, but he couldn't pinpoint the reason.

"Goodbye, my Master. May the Light bring us back together at the completion of my trials." With one last fleeting smile that didn't reach his eyes, he turned toward the door. "I'm going back to camp," he said over his shoulder. "I'll take the pod out for Maltecha in the morning. With fuel from the stores here, I should be able to make it in an easy hop. I'll begin there."

Qui Gon stared at him, at a loss for words. Obi Wan took a deep breath, then continued on his way. His master watched the door close behind him, then belatedly sent, _May the Force be with you_ through their bond. _And bring you back to me safely_.

The words echoed between them. He heard no reply.

As the echo faded, he remembered, finally, the last time he'd seen that braid twisted around that long throat. His eyes closed, and he saw with his memory's eye the battered, unconscious form of Kenobi as they escaped from Tatooine. His braid had been looped around his neck like a slave collar.

Oh, no, my Padawan, he thought with fierce determination. You are no one's slave.

Least of all, mine.

__

Chosen 4:  Balance

Sneaking onto Maltecha was easier than he'd expected. The traffic around the spaceport was chaotic, and Kenobi planed in behind a cruiser, masking his pod's signature in the ambient energy of the much larger ship. Once under the planet sensor grid, he piloted the pod to a soft landing outside the main settlement sprawl, and slogged his way to the central city on foot.

In his worn natural fiber tunic and leggings, he could have been anyone; a farm boy coming in for the season's end, a worker seeking distraction, a wanderer waiting for adventure. Long hair swinging against his shoulders, light saber hilt carefully hidden under a fold in his tunic, dust streaking his clothing and boots, he fit in well with the swarms of Maltech, aliens and travelers bustling through the streets. Beneath the typical hustle of a city, however, he felt something unusual. Metallic.

Fear.

These people were scared half to death, and intent on not showing it.

Loitering for a moment next to a shop window, ostensibly peering at the bill of goods displayed there but actually watching the reflection of the street behind him intently, he could see why.

Battle droids.

Everywhere.

Ducking through alleyways and cutting through back entrances and out side doors, he made his way to the minor Jedi temple in a suburb of the main city. He'd risked a single burst of low-energy Force seeking earlier, with no results. Now, he saw why.

The temple was nothing but rubble and dust. Bits of cloth and broken tile showed where gathering rooms had once been, and his nose wrinkled at the stench of congealed blood and fetid flesh on the air. Jedi had been butchered like animals and left to rot. His stomach revolted, but he forced himself to look past the carnage. Any clues he gathered would be keys to their enemy's downfall.

What he saw shook him to the soles of his boots.

Vandals had desecrated what little remained of the temple, and graffiti defaced the walls, spewing filth and lies about the Jedi, the Code, the Force. The Jedi were to blame for everything, the food shortage, the lack of medicines; they'd plundered planets to support themselves in grand temples while the people had nothing, and when the truth became known they'd attacked the people directly. The people had risen up and slain the foul creatures, taking back what was theirs.

So read the hatred scratched into the stones of what had been the temple of the Guardians of the Galaxy.

Staring at the ruins, he was aware of an slight ripple in the Force. Glancing off to the side, following the disturbance, he saw a young Maltech female, barely past her adolescence. She stared back, then broke off the exchange of glances and disappeared into the side street to the west of the temple ruins. Listening to his instinct, guided by the Force, he followed her.

She'd been an apprentice, visiting her family when the attack came.

She knew the truth.

She knew others who also knew the truth.

They were not afraid of death. They were more afraid of what their lives would become under the 'benevolent' rule of the Emperor.

They were the core of the first resistance cell.

They were the first of many.

 

"There is a pattern here, Apprentice," the low voice hissed through the holoimage. Maul winced, caught it before it became apparent, and nodded. "You will quell it before others are infected with the same hopeless stupidity."

"Yes, my master." He was going nowhere. The Force had drawn him to Tatooine, and there he would remain. "The disturbances appear to have begun here in the Rim, master. I shall discover and crush whoever is responsible for them."

"Do not be distracted, apprentice." There was a hint of knowledge and the ring of command in Sidious' voice. "Events are at a pivotal point and must not be allowed to fall the wrong way. Concentrate on your mission."

"Yes, my master." He most certainly would. He just didn't see fit to inform his master precisely what his primary mission was. The transmission ended, and he smiled, closer to a snarl, at the blank space his master's image had recently filled. The Jedi was close.

Very close.

 

Deep in a cavern on the forest planet D'rel'j, a tiny holoimage appeared. A man in gray-white linen sat cross-legged before it. The small green visage stared up at him.

"You have done well. Spreading, is the resistance."

"Civil war is breaking out, Master. This has to be ended, and quickly, before brother turns against brother, and the scars are too deep to heal."

"One more cell, you must create, then join us, you will."

Red-rimmed blue eyes peered from a dirty face, lines of fatigue scoring the pale skin beneath the grime. "How long, master?"

"Four days you have, no more, no less. To Tatooine, you will go. Much havoc, there. A great darkness in the Force there is over the planet. Great care, you must exercise."

"I'll try, Master Yoda."

"There is no try, there is only do, or not do."

The drawn face remained perfectly calm. "Then I shall do."

The small head nodded, long ears up and alert, belying the weariness in Yoda's own eyes. "The Force be with you, young Kenobi."

"And with you, Master." With a flicker, the holoimage blinked out. The young man stared at the emptiness in the cave, and crushed the need to see his true master before it could cause him to do something foolish, like reach out through the Force.

He had work to do. When it was over, when he returned from Tatooine, then he would allow himself to think of Qui Gon.

Not until then.

 

Two large, robed figures slid like shadows through the hallways of the Imperial Senate. Guard droids didn't see them; spy cameras glossed over them. Their footsteps made no noise; their passage made no imprint on the minds of those they passed.

Two hands, one dark, one light, reached out to two twinned panels. A screen flared to life in a darkened room, showing a black-hooded figure on a high throne before a field of stars in a circular chamber. Two heads lowered over the screen. As the hood began to shift, somehow sensing their regard, a hand waved over a sensor pad, and the screen went dark.

One entrance. One exit.

A phalanx of forty guards, plus droids.

A Sith Master.

This was not going to be easy.

Nothing worthwhile ever was.

Turning as one, the two Jedi masters drifted from the compound to the small room in the warren of poor housing units in the slums of the city. There, they joined the third. Deep into the night, they planned.

They would have one chance to rid the galaxy of this evil, before it sank such deep roots it would be generations before it could be excised. They must cut it out now, before the hold was too strong. And so they laid out their time tables, synchronized their attack, and dealt treason to the newly formed Empire.

To save a galaxy, they would kill a self-crowned King.

Centered deep within himself after they had broken for rest, Qui Gon Jinn ached with the need to send out a message to his Padawan through their bond. He needed to know the boy, the man, was safe. Well. Returning.

He damped down the need, ignored the ache, and settled down to sleep. As always, the needs of others would come before his own.

For the greater good.

It didn't make it ache any less.

 

He'd felt the presence before he made landing, but he didn't let himself be distracted. A small corner of Kenobi's mind laughed out loud -- it was so fitting that the place he'd lost himself as a Jedi would be the place of his final, most difficult trial. To return to the scene of his defilement, under the nose of his defiler, evade the demon, spark a resistance, then disappear to strike the final blow; it was a beautiful scenario, one of justice, not vengeance.

Of course it couldn't work out that way.

Initial contact completed, the eight conspirators and their Jedi leader met in a sandy-floored hole-in-the-wall housing unit in the slaves' quarters. Munitions dumps, communication centers, command nodes and supply lines were the topic of final plans, when Kenobi's head jerked up and his eyes widened.

"Out!" he spat, not giving them time to question. "Now!"

A fraction behind his reaction, they heard what he'd sensed : Imperial killing droids, a squad at least, maybe more. Data tablets disappeared in a flash of hands and the conspirators scattered to the winds. Kenobi stayed where he was, swaying slightly on his feet, his left hand sweeping his light saber from its hidden loop and activating it in one smooth motion.

So strong.

So seductive.

Anything but good.

The harsh bark of the droid captain snapping out orders barely impinged on his mind. His entire being was concentrated on the threat sweeping through the front door.

Singing to him through the Force.

 

The itch had been growing stronger for the past three days, until it was nearly unbearable. Giving in to the demand, Maul ordered a troop of assassin droids to accompany him, and went prowling on patrol. His instincts were correct, as expected.

The pull led him directly to the Jedi.

He felt the jolt of recognition and smiled ferally. An instant later he heard the puny pawns of the Jedi run, and waved the droids off to hunt them down. His own prey was much more challenging.

And it was all his.

Stepping through the door, he saw the Jedi, waiting for him. He looked much healthier, if disappointingly clothed. There was an excitement in meeting him at strength, like this. The wheat gold hair was longer, shining, shifting about the broad shoulders, and the body that had been marked and starved now was lean and strong. Competent hands curled in fists around the hilt of his activated lightsaber, and the softly planed face was serene in the vivid blue glow of the weapon, lids half closed over sharp sky-clear eyes.

Those eyes still burned.

With an inarticulate cry composed as much of lust as it was of rage, he sprang forward, his light staff coming to life in his hands. The Jedi met him blow for blow, leaping, twisting, springing with deadly grace in response to every strike.

It was exhilarating.

The battle shifted and wrenched between them. He brought his staff in a quick triple strike that the Jedi barely parried, and the blue fire slapped upward to slice against the lower side of his hilt, disabling the right half of his staff. Flowing without pause from staff attack to saber attack, he came back to the battle full force.

It was exciting.

The Jedi threw himself to the side, escaping a downward hack by a hair's breadth, then rolled, sprang over Maul's head in a tuck and thrust move, landing cat-light behind him. Maul pivoted in place, weaving to the left as the blue saber swung up, neatly side-stepping a sure decapitation. Red fire met blue, wavered, sparked, slid apart with a shriek like rending metal.

Something strange was happening.

As he tired from the almost demented pace of the battle and called more and more upon the Force to sustain him, the tempo of the battle slowed. Their movements synchronized, became a dance, not of death, as it should be, but more of mirror images faintly seen from the corner of the eye. Light sabers clashed, screeched, broke apart; legs kicked out, arms strained, backs twisted with effort; sweat sheened their faces and stung their eyes.

The Force flowed around them. The killing field it had become the first time they met became something more.

Something unusual.

Something unique.

It wrapped around them, misty white and inky black, not repulsing as it should, but rather joining, entwining, weaving to create patterns of fate that had never before been seen. Light was not overpowering Dark, and Dark was not enveloping Light.

There was no winner. No loser.

A leveling in the Force.

As there had never been.

Slowly, the battle wound down, as both participants become aware of the bizarre situation occurring in the Living Force around them. Maul stared, fascinated, as the shadows passed over his opponent's face. The deep blue eyes narrowed, then widened. Horror flashed through their depths, but it didn't taste unusually sweet to the Sith. It tasted … right.

The Jedi didn't agree.

With a low howl of "No!" he brought his light saber up, disrupting the shifting patterns in the Force. Maul reacted instinctively to the movement, bringing his own weapon up. The blades caught, and Maul twisted the hilt of the saber from the Jedi's grasp. It flew to the edge of the hut, impacting with the wall, deactivating and falling to the floor. The sizzle of red energy lay against the Jedi's throat.

Against the braid of hair wound around the white skin.

"Please." Despite the word, it wasn't a plea. It was a command. But he couldn't decide what the Jedi was telling him to do. Staring into those defiant, distraught eyes, he realized the Jedi was telling him to end it, to kill him.

To his intense shock, he also realized he couldn't.

The patterns in the Force stabilized again, and Maul felt it moving through him. It touched all the dark places inside that had been so used to the power of the Force, but the touch was different. Fuller. Deeper. His hand twisted, deactivating his light saber. His other hand moved, following the dictates of the Force, and buried its fingers deeply in the thick hair at the back of the Jedi's head. Pulling him forward, off his feet, Maul brought their bodies together with strength enough to rock both men, and devoured the Jedi's mouth.

He felt a minor disturbance in the Force and blocked it instinctively. The Jedi had tried for his light saber. Maul tossed his own weapon over his shoulder in the general direction of the Jedi's weapon. Both saber hilts lay quiescent, caught in a web of Light and Dark Force, immovable. Maul broke the kiss, and looked into those eyes again.

The fire was unbanked, searing him.

Feeling the compulsion of the Force within him, knowing it was reflected in the Jedi, he ripped the dusty cloth from the Jedi's body, baring soft skin and solid muscle. The Jedi's hands were moving as well, tearing at Maul's clothing, moving against his skin. Maul's eyes were clouding over; all he could see were the stripes of Light and Dark painting the Jedi's skin, and the fire burning in those blue eyes. Every cell in his body was tingling. The itch was back.

Moans were issuing from someone's throat, grasping, greedy sounds, but he wasn't interested enough to figure out from whom. He was too busy, too distracted, too intent on feeding the addiction that had been eating at him for months. The distraction could have been his downfall, because in a move he was not expecting, the Jedi twisted out of his grasp and ended up behind him. The breath caught in his throat; he'd faced death before, but not here, not now. Not with the Force moving through him so fiercely.

In the next instant, strong hands slid over his shoulders to his hips, and a greedy mouth settled on the side of his neck, biting, licking, sucking. He hissed in pleasure and pushed back against the weight pressing from his shoulders to his hips. Long legs slid between his, one callused hand closing over his erection, the other sliding between his buttocks, separating him, probing him. He bucked back harder, and his need was met with equal need, as solid flesh filled him, countered by the rhythmic stroking at his groin.

Around them, patterns shifted, formed and reformed, in the Force. Opal met onyx and bled together, retaining their distinction, but creating something more. Light and Dark writhed in a tangled mass, neither surrendering nor conquering. As Maul felt his climax approach he sensed the gathering of energy in the Jedi covering him, and reached out with the Force to touch that -- final --

A scream tore from his throat, or the Jedi's, or neither, or both. The web of the Force imploded around them, crushing them in a grip of need met, grasp exceeded. There was no air, no energy, nothing left but one another and the connection between them.

Then there was nothing at all.

 

Obi Wan Kenobi felt as if he'd fallen into a pit and rolled all the way down to the bottom. Over rocks. Sharp rocks. He'd slept like the dead until an insistent vibration in the Force centralized close to his outflung hand had finally roused him. Struggling up from unconsciousness, he stared at the being he held in his arms and had the fleeting wish that he'd never woken up.

Untangling himself very carefully from the demon, he inched away and reached for the remains of his clothes. Dressed in his leggings and boots, winding the tatters of his tunic around his torso, he stared at the Sith lord who had not killed him the previous night. He didn't want to understand why he'd ended up in carnal activity with his enemy instead of dying with dignity at his enemy's hand.

But he did.

Fingering his light saber, he stared at the still-sleeping form of the demon. Every ounce of training he'd ever had was screaming at him to kill the demon, that he was a threat to the galaxy, a minion of evil.

The Force was screaming just as loud for him to do no such thing.

This was a trial he had no idea how to face, and he was almost certain it wasn't one the Council, or even just Master Yoda, would have envisioned for him. Clenching his fingers around the hilt of his saber until his knuckles turned white, he fought with himself until the small transmitter now attached to the belt at his waist vibrated again.

He had to leave.

They had an emperor to kill, and a resistance to lead, and a galaxy to save. All he had to do was kill one Sith demon and be on his way.

Ducking out into the bright sunlight and making his way as fast as he could to the spaceport, he had a sinking feeling he had just failed his trials. A Jedi Knight surely would have been able to do what had to be done, and kill the Sith. That's what Jedi did.

Wasn't it?

Strapping himself into his resistance-provided ship, he couldn't help but wonder. He felt the Force ripple, knew the Sith was looking for him, and clamped down as much as possible with his shields. It didn't matter right now. He had a job to do. Later, when there was time, he would ask Master Yoda for guidance.

He certainly wasn't going to ask Qui Gon.

He'd lost that right on Dagobah.

 

Master Qui Gon felt his Padawan's arrival in the small utility junction outside the main guard post to the Throne Room, but he was too busy trying to shield the raiding party from the Emperor's Dark sight to risk sending out any welcome through their bond. He contented himself with a warm grip on Obi Wan's shoulder, and an equally warm smile. His Padawan looked to be at the end of his tether.

He didn't return the smile, either.

At the outset of the most dangerous mission of their lives, he didn't have time to find out why. It was becoming an all-too-familiar tale. Qui Gon made a mental note to take a long vacation when this was all through, with his apprentice, and cut through the morass of confusion that was fouling their communication.

Starting with the lovemaking.

Shaking off his small spike of arousal before the others could read it in the Force, he took a deep breath. Linking minds with Yoda, Windu and Obi Wan, he waited for the word from Master Yoda.

_Now_.

In a perfect pincer, they swept through the squad of biological and mechanical guards outside the inner sanctum. Jinn took point, Windu took the left flank and Kenobi the right. Yoda planted himself in the rear guard position and gathered the Force to him, manipulating it now like a fine edged blade, now like a mallet, scrambling communication, cutting off alarms, forcing open doors, sending bodies flying.

There were more guards than they'd expected.

Emperor Palpatine hadn't been taken quite as unaware as they'd hoped.

The third wave of defenders hit them as they exploded into the throne room. Over them and flowing through them, Dark Force spears of energy lacerated them, and they fought through an angry field of Force that flayed them alive. In the space of a heartbeat, the shards began to fragment before impact, as Yoda joined the battle, and Sith Master met Jedi Master in a collision of killing energy.

Each Jedi warrior faced challenge after challenge, body parts and droid pieces flying around them like miniature tornadoes as they whirled, sliced, tumbled, and chopped. Sheer force of numbers began to tell, as they fought to protect themselves and one another while pressing forward against the Emperor. A cut-off scream shuddered through the Jedi attackers as Windu slid in a pool of blood, and went down under the force of a dozen humanoid and droid guards. The loss rippled through the remaining Knight and Masters as Mace Windu was whipped into the Force, then strength redoubled as Yoda tapped into the newly-released energy in the Living Force around them.

From the throne, an inhuman shriek arose. The hair on the back of Qui Gon's neck prickled, as he felt once more the odd dark tendrils he'd felt in Obi Wan's Force. Only this time, the intensity was quadrupled. He swung around to see a feral-looking being framed in the doorway, a two-headed light saber in his hands. He was dressed in black, with red and black patterned skin, glaring red and yellow eyes, and sharp horns ringing his hairless skull.

His Padawan's demon. A Sith Lord.

"Kill them!"

He felt the words as much as heard them, and the being swung his light staff into attack position. Obi Wan peeled off the forward attack to protect their flank, and Qui Gon spared just a moment's glance at the two warriors before throwing himself into the attack on the Emperor. The last of the guard fell before him, but he could not reach past the Force wall Palpatine was throwing at him.

"KILL HIM!"

Reacting to the disbelief and fury in the emperor's voice, he turned his head to see what had provoked such rage. He didn't believe what he saw.

Obi Wan and the Sith were standing face to face, a handspan apart from one another. Their weapons were activated, but held down to their sides, and they simply stood there, staring at one another. Around them, the Living Force danced, in a display the likes of which he had never seen. In the back of his mind, he heard Yoda's voice whisper, _The Chosen One was not. Two, not one. Balance, there shall be, in the Force. It is as it shall be. Now, Qui Gon_!

Moving with the command sent to him by his own Master through the Force, Jinn turned and threw a steady stream of repulsive and containing Force at the throne, surrounding the Emperor and immobilizing him. Yoda flew past him, levitating over the field of battle and impacting directly over Palpatine's heart.

_Now_! _It is as it shall be. YES_! Yoda sent to him what he must do.

"No!" Qui Gon screamed even as his arms raised and, with the last of his strength, he swung his light saber through the two figures struggling on the throne. Their robes sizzled and flared, but there was no scent of burning flesh. Collapsing to his knees, completely drained, he stared at the puddle of black and brown material on the floor. In the back of his mind, resonating through the Force, he heard screams.

And laughter.

 

Obi Wan couldn't move his arm, couldn't shift his legs. His adversary and he were trapped in a bubble of the Force, a nearly opaque blend of Dark and Light that was paralyzing them both. He could do nothing but stare into the gleaming gold and crimson of his demon's eyes, and wait for the end.

It wasn't quite what he expected it to be.

A rush of energy expanded around them, and the image of two beings, one with Yoda's face, one with Palpatine's, wavered past them. Palpatine was shrieking dark anger, and denial. Yoda was laughing, bright acceptance and joy. Below the faces, there was but one body, and it was absorbed within the Force. Caught, made one, one with the Force, and one with one another.

His hand reached up and touched the red and black patterned cheek, then dropped to his side. The bright eyes didn't blink.

Waves of fatigue and worry were washing out from his Master, and he turned, finding himself able to move, now that the battle was over, now that he was no longer threatening his demon. A light touch along the edges of his hair between his shoulder blades stilled him in his tracks.

"You will go to him now. But you will return to me."

He swallowed with a dry throat. Not turning, he answered, the words shimmering in the Force between them. _I know_.

Stepping forward, he hurried to his Master's side, reaching him just in time to catch him as he lost consciousness. Seeking out through the Force, he could hear the conversation just outside the carnage of the throne room.

"There is no threat. You will allow the intruders to leave unharmed. The alert is cancelled." The alarm klaxons were immediately silenced.

Kneeling beside Qui Gon, stroking his face and waiting for him to rouse, Obi Wan could hear the soft whisper of Yoda's mind-voice. _Balance in the Force. As it should be_.

_He's a Sith, Master Yoda._

More laughter.

_I'm a Jedi._

The impression of sparkling eyes.

_Balance. As it should be_.

 

Epilog :

Qui Gon Jinn stared calmly around the great hall at the representatives of the newly created Galactic Senate. There was a great deal of work to be done, but with time, patience, and dedication, the Republic would grow strong again, and peace would once more blanket the galaxy.

If only it were so simple within his own heart.

He looked out the port of the huge space station, originally planned as a weapon of war, now used as a gathering place for peace. A streak of light flew from the lower corner, leaving the docking ports, and he felt the distance in the bond he shared with his former Padawan.

His apprentice was a Knight, now. Somewhere along the path, he'd forged an alliance that had altered the basic nature of the Living Force.

The joining gave him great misgivings. Looking deep within himself, he couldn’t help but wonder if those misgivings were protective or jealous. For now, Obi Wan had to follow the path the Force had laid out for him.

Qui Gon didn't have to like it. When things were settled, and the time was his to address his own needs, he would follow Obi Wan. There would be a reckoning. The chances he missed would be his again.

Eventually.

Around him, the Force rippled, then settled. Qui Gon Jinn gathered his robe against the chill in the air, and turned back to his work.

 _finis, story and series._


End file.
